


My Cunning Plan

by RumCove



Series: My Captive Audience [3]
Category: Scrubs (TV)
Genre: Cutesy WhatsApping, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, JD and Cox are idiots, JD/Cox co-parenting, JD/Cox filth, M/M, all the feelz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24166663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumCove/pseuds/RumCove
Summary: A fluffy, smutty one shot as part of the MCA series, but readers do not need to have read the previous works. Was supposed to be one chapter, but I got carried away so it'll be in three parts.JD and Doctor Cox have been together nearly nine years. In celebration, Doctor Cox buys JD a new car after his motorcycle was mysteriously destroyed by a guy in gray overalls driving a truck.Meanwhile, JD is prepping himself to ask Perry the biggest, most important question of his life. And hoping to God the Janitor doesn't reappear to ruin his big proposal at the last minute.Established relationship, JD/Cox co-parenting, smut, fluff and oh my God, absolute filth in the first chapter. Lots of feels. As ever, don't like, don't read.
Relationships: Perry Cox/John "JD" Dorian
Series: My Captive Audience [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551295
Comments: 15
Kudos: 62





	1. 01. His Token Gift

**My Cunning Plan**

**Chapter One: His Token Gift**

**By RumCove**

Disclaimer: Scrubs original characters belong to Bill Lawrence and NBC/ABC/Doozer Productions etc. Basically, not owned by me.

I frown in my sleep and then groan. Something is wriggling around in the bed next to me. It's apparently made of ice, judging by the freezing cold feet I can feel occasionally squirming against me.

“Sorry...”

I crack an eye open and glance at the clock. 4am.

“Lily, you realize that with my meteoric rise to Chief of Medicine, I shouldn't be subjected to shift work, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“So why am I being awoken by a fidgeting little Newbie at godawful o'clock?”

“Because you get pissed when I sleep in the spare room when I'm on shift, because despite how much you claim otherwise you love being the big spoon?”

I roll over and drag him up against me.

“Good _God_ Newbie, should I check your circulation? I've felt cadavers with warmer feet.”

He writhes around slightly to try to get into a more comfortable position, which I promptly then move him out of to flip him onto his back so I can grudgingly massage some warmth back into his feet.

“Do you often go about feeling the tootsies of the dead?”

“Everyone needs a hobby, Francesca.”

He rolls his head onto my shoulder and arches his back as I firmly massage the heel of his foot, sliding a finger along the arch as I do so. He groans.

“Oh my God, are you seriously getting turned on by this?” I ask him. He looks at me rather apologetically in the pre-dawn gloom.

“I can't help it, I think you've just found a new erogenous zone on me.”

“All of you's an erogenous zone,” I grumble to him.

“Why do you sound so annoyed by that? Doesn't that just show that I think you're sexy?”

“No, I don't really think it's anything personal. You're just a horny little bastard.”

“Hmmm. Your horny little bastard.”

“How seductive you are, Tabitha.”

He's snuggled down against me, bonelessly flopped against my chest as I continue to massage some warmth back into his feet. He's somehow relaxed, despite my bending his knees back up against his chest to get at his feet. He's closed his eyes and looks peaceful.

“Are you going to sleep now, after waking me up and making me turn you on?”

“Mnyes. Unless I have anything to stay awake for?”

Little bastard's just played me. I growl and press my erection against his thigh.

“Is this enough to stay awake for?”

He grins at me.

\- - - - -

Two hours later the alarm blares next to my head and I groan into JD's ear, having inevitably ended up as the big spoon. He absolutely does it somehow, it's not me.

JD grunts and squirms around to tuck his head under my chin, a drawn out “noooo” coming from somewhere in the region of my pecs. I prod him.

“'ve only been asleep an hour...”

“Yes, but you're the one who likes to see Jack before he goes to school. You can sleep after, Morticia.”

He pulls his head out from under the covers to blink at me. “Morticia? Really?”

“You're pale with dark hair and currently appear to be nocturnal. _This_ is the name you take offence at?”

He blinks at me again and I stroke a hand through his hair. “You really are out of it, aren't you? Why don't you just go back to sleep?”

“No, you're right, I need to get Jack up.”

He sits up in bed, his hair standing on end, the bedsheet sliding off to reveal his Morticia-esque pale skin.

“I can do that, JD, he is my son.”

“Bleagh.”

“You're a wonderful companion, you know that, right?”

He staggers out of bed and stretches. Despite having just had a pretty strenuous session with him concluding very agreeably about an hour ago, my cock is still interested in this little display. I frown at myself; I'm honestly getting as bad as him.

“Remember to put some clothes on Newbie, don't go skipping around like that. I don't want Jack writing into one of those chat magazines; 'Dear Debbie, I saw my Dad's boyfriend naked and now I'm having confusing urges.'”

“Yeah, I often run around the house naked. Just go shower.”

\- - - - -

“Did you finish that history assignment?”

“Yes.”

As I come down the stairs I can hear quiet conversation from the kitchen.

“And you have your football kit for this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“And did you finish that history assignment?”

“... Yes, JD. You've asked me that three times now.”

I walk around the corner and lean against the wall. JD's looking back at Jack, a confused expression on his face.

“Have I?”

“Go to bed, Newbie.”

“I'm a doctor, I've worked shifts plenty-”

“Yes, and you've just worked six night shifts in a row. Go.”

He trails off up the stairs after giving Jack some lunch money and hugging me goodbye as I softly kiss his forehead, stroking the small of his back gently.

“Have you broken him?” Jack asks, looking uncharacteristically worried. “Only he just gave me fifty dollars for lunch and I'm pretty sure he made coffee with gravy granules.”

I hurriedly put down the cup I was about to drink.

“No, I didn't break him. He's just tired. After we were away last weekend he's been working pretty much non-stop. Anyway, give that fifty to me, I’ll give you ten.”

Jack sulkily hands the money back. “That shows me for being honest.”

“Yeah, integrity gets you nowhere, champ.”

“Maybe I would have bought him something nice with it?”

“Right. Your idea of buying him something nice is usually self-serving, like a video game you want that you occasionally make him play with you.”

“I don’t have to _make_ him do anything, he likes it. Not all adults have to be miserable and angry like you.”

“Yeah yeah. Anyway, no matter how much you love your step-mother slash overgrown man child nerd of a friend, don’t get him anything. I’m already buying him something, if we both do something spontaneously nice he’ll think we’re going on holiday without him and leaving him in kennels.”

“You realize you used two different genders in that sentence, right? Also, isn’t it kinda weird that he’s really suspicious when you’re nice to him?”

“Relationships aren’t all Disney, Jacko. ”

\- - - - -

After dropping Jack off at high school I head over to Sacred Heart to enlist the aid of Gandhi, JD’s best friend/love of his life, and my Chief of Surgery. He is understandably overjoyed at my request for his assistance.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I need you to come with me. C’mon,” I whistle at him.

“Seriously, man, I’m not JD, you can’t just come demand I-“

I whistle at him repeatedly until he rolls his eyes and follows me.

“Whazzup?”

“That went out of fashion around 2010, Gandhi. Anyway, I’m your _boss_ , I can ask you to do my dry-cleaning if I want to. Your surgery’s already been passed down to your minions.”

“Great, what a fantastic use of these _magical_ hands, doing your dry cleaning.”

“Yeah yeah, you’ll like this, just get in the car.”

Roughly five minutes into the journey Gandhi rather sulkily asks “So… what are we doing?”

“We’re going to pick something up for your favorite girlfriend.”

“Dude, he’s _literally_ your boyfriend, you’ve lived together for like eight years.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “Sure, whatever. Well, we’re picking up a car for him.”

“I thought you told him to buy a new motorcycle instead?”

“Yeah, I told him that because I thought I’d get the car for him. He loved that ridiculous Aprilia.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him you’d buy the car.”

I shrug. “I wanted to surprise him.”

“And why do you need me?”

“Well, Gandhi, I can’t drive two cars at once, no matter how talented I am. Also, I want you to check that I’ve got all the shit that Delilah will like. Since you two know one another better than you know yourselves.”

Gandhi looks weirdly pleased by that and sits back in his chair smugly. “Getting my boy a sweet ride. Now _that’s_ what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Er, Pumpkin, this is _Newbie_ we’re talking about. He wants a Mini.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m deciding to find it cute.”

Gandhi snorts next to me. I frown at him. “What?”

“Dude, JD could have set a puppy on fire and you’d think it was cute.” Gandhi looks slightly confused. “Not that he would, obviously, but you get what I mean.”

“Have you been talking to Carla about this and the face I apparently make when he’s around?”

“No, but I can imagine what it was.”

I growl and Gandhi laughs.

“What? It’s funny, you portray yourself as such a hard-ass all the time. He’s like your Achille’s heel or something. It’s kinda sweet, but mainly just funny.”

“Do you want me to kick you out the Dodge?”

“Does this thing have an ejector seat? That would be cool if it did. Nah, you’re not going to throw me out, you need me.”

“I could make you sit on the back seat through.”

“And why would that be so bad?”

“Because your girlfriend and I have had _a lot_ of sex back there.”

“Dude, not cool…”

\- - - - -

“Which model does he want?”

I shrug. “No idea. Probably the least practical one. I figure the Clubman would be the most useful and least girly if I ever have to drive the damn thing.”

“Are you not driving it back now?”

“No. There’s no way in hell you’re driving the Dodge, Gandhi.”

He gives me a sulky look. I nearly point out that even JD isn’t allowed to drive the Dodge, but even after years of us being together I still get uncomfortable expressing affection for him in public. And I used up all of my reserves of public affection at the weekend. I even kissed him in front of the Brady Bunch, for God’s sake.

I am fully aware of how emotionally crippled I am. I should probably go back to therapy…

“What color?” Gandhi interrupts my internal anxious monologue and I worry (not for the first time) that JD’s bad habits are transferring to me.

“Blue, like that ridiculous scooter he had.”

“The scooter called…?” He’s grinning at me. I glower at him, but when this doesn’t work I sigh and roll my eyes.

“The scooter you morons called Sasha.”

He grins even wider at me and I resist the urge to snap at him or point out I also live in the same house as that ludicrous stuffed dead dog. Although that lives in the basement in JD’s weird nest of random crap.

I can see a sales assistant trying to figure out whether we’re actually planning on buying anything and presumably also trying to figure out the relationship between the two of us. I purposefully stand further away from him (bad enough _actually_ being in a relationship with Newbie, I don’t want anyone to think I’m with _Gandhi_ , that would be the final straw. I should have brought Carla with me…)

I lift my eyebrows at him and he scurries over. Before I can say anything Gandhi cheerfully greets the sales assistant.

“Hey, man! My friend here is looking to buy a Clubman for his boyfriend.”

Oh my God, I hate everything. I want to set fire to this fucking car dealership and everyone in it. I put on a rather rictus grin.

“Yes, and my friend is here because he nahwt-so-secretly wants to be married to my boyfriend and therefore is the best person to assist with this.”

The guy gives us both a slightly confused look and I roll my eyes.

“Look, I just want to get a good deal on a new car as quickly as is humanly possible so I don’t need to spend any time longer here than necessary. No test drive required, no teeth-sucking whilst you ponder how much of your commission you can shave off to seal the deal. You following me, Joey O’Brien?”

“Uh, my name is Simon, sir. And if you just come this way I can show you our best deals on the Clubman.”

As we trail after him, Gandhi glances at me.

“I think he’s too young to have seen _The Cadillac Man_.”

“Yeah, I figured that. It’s made me want to burn the place down even more.”

“I’ll help you get the gas…”

\- - - - -

I’ve left Gandhi to fine-tune whatever mod-cons he thinks Newbie will want with instructions of “new and blue or adieu” and then a later caveat of “no personalized 545HA plate, Gandhi, or he’ll actually wet himself at the sight of the thing”.

To be fair, I might buy him the vanity plate in a couple weeks. He may still wet himself, but there’s less of a chance with less of a surprise. Also, I think he’ll quite like it. Well, the plate. Not wetting himself, although knowing some of the weird shit he Googles he’s probably at some point looked up water sports and asked me if we should try it. At one point I’m going to say yes, just to see his horrified expression. I’m pretty sure he’s doing it to try and shock me and doesn’t want to actually do any of the things that he’s looking at, but just in case I’ll make sure I say yes to something I wouldn’t be averse to actually doing in case I’ve misunderstood him.

I check my cell and notice some WhatsApp updates. “Family <3” group (good God, yes, Newbie set that up, complete with a sappy photo of me, him and Jack – if I’m being honest, I find it slightly adorable, but I’d never admit that) has a few messages.

Newbie: Since you appear to have eaten _all of the food in the house_ shall we get takeout tonight? (1147)

Jack: Totally! Chinese! (1151)

Newbie: Stop checking your cell in class. Also, thanks for apologizing for eating all the food when I’m on nights. It’s not like I’m literally out saving lives while you guys stuff yourselves in the evening. (1155)

Jack: It was Dad. (1201)

Newbie: Why has someone filled the coffee pot with gravy? (1210)

I smirk and send a message.

Me: That was you this morning, Cupcake. Chinese sounds good and I pass on my utmost apologies that I ate the leftover portion of lasagna last night, I didn’t realize you had a deep and meaningful relationship with it.

A minute later he replies.

Newbie: I don’t recommend drinking gravy kept warm for several hours with creamer and caramel drizzle…

I laugh and pull up our direct conversation. He’s changed his profile picture to a selfie of him with un-styled hair wearing his glasses and glancing suspiciously at the coffee pot. I can feel the ridiculous soppy expression I make when he’s not looking running over my face and make a conscious effort to stop it.

Me: Hey nerdy little bastard. Are you in this afternoon or are you too busy drinking condiments?

I consider it for a second and then send a subsequent message.

Me: Looking cute, BTW.

Honestly, I still feel awkward saying things like that, but I know he practically skips around when I do, so I make the effort. I watch the double ticks go blue and then “Newbie is typing” appear underneath for a few seconds.

Newbie: Yeah, unless I find any mustard that I want to try with sugar and lemon. Why?

Always am.

Me: Planning on coming back early. Wanted to spend some time with you and your corpse feet. And yeah, you are.

Newbie: 😊

I grin to myself and go find out what the hell Gandhi is requesting they add. I draw the line at nitrous.

\- - - - -

“Hey, Newbie.”

He looks up from where he’s sprawled on one of the sofas reading and grins at me. The grin widens even further when he sees Gandhi behind me.

“Hey! Hi Turk!”

He looks slightly puzzled and sits up, the medical journal he was reading falling onto his lap. “What’s going on? If this is an intervention then I swear I haven’t eaten cotton candy in months.”

“You ate some last week, Newbie. Anyway, it’s not, go look outside.”

He gives me a slightly quizzical look and then gets up and goes out the door, Gandhi trailing after him. I lean against the doorframe and watch his ridiculously excited reaction as he yelps out “oh my God, it’s a Sasha car, Sasha’s been reincarnated!” and runs over to it. He then glances over at Gandhi and shouts “re-in-CAR-nated!”. I roll my eyes and see him hurtling back over to me before he jumps at me in a weird flying hug. I catch him and he wraps his arms and legs around me, kissing me repeatedly, punctuating each word he speaks with a quick kiss.

“Oh-my-God-I-love-it-I-love-it-I-love-you-love-you-love-you.”

I can see Gandhi looking amused and ignore him. Despite my distaste for public displays of affection, I’m rather pleased with this response. I hug him to me briefly and kiss his hair.

“You’re welcome, little clingy bastard. Now how’s about you stop being quite so embarrassing and take it for a spin to give Gandhi a lift back to Sacred Heart?”

“Are you gonna come too?”

I’m well aware he’s planning on having sex in the back of it, he has a one track mind. I lift an eyebrow at him to tell him he’s completely transparent.

“No, I’ll stay here.” I unwrap my arms from around him and he reluctantly slides down me. I lean forward and mutter into his ear “I’m a pillar of the community, stop trying to get me arrested for indecent behaviour” and he giggles softly.

“Okay, I’ll go take Sasha for a spin with Turk.”

“Atta boy.”

\- - - - -

I’m sprawled on the couch reading the medical journal Newbie had been perusing when I hear him arrive back. He opens the door and bounds excitedly into the house.

“Oh my God, she drives sooooo well.”

He jumps on top of me, apparently ignoring that I’m reading.

“Does it?”

“She.”

I drop the journal, giving it up as a lost cause.

“It’s an it, Newbie. Stop anthropomorphizing things.”

“ _She_ ,” he insists stubbornly. I roll my eyes.

“Why is the motorcycle male and the car female?”

He shrugs. “They just are. They’re all hanging out in the garage together now. Sasha, Perry Two and the Dodge.”

“That sounds like the title of a Spaghetti Western. And stop calling the motorcycle Perry, Newbie, that’s just weird.”

He grins and then flattens himself along the length of my body. “I wanna say thank you.”

I smirk. “I thought you might.”

“Wanna go upstairs? Jack has football practice, he’s gonna be gone for hours.”

He’s already on his feet and tugging impatiently at my hand. I get to my feet and then abruptly pull him into a bridal lift. He wriggles slightly and then makes a face at me.

“I can walk.”

“I know.” I kiss him hard. “But if you want to say thank you then aren’t you going to do what I tell you?”

He grins at me. “Oh, are we playing that game?”

\- - - - -

Newbie has an interesting attitude to sex. He either likes to be in total control or completely have the control taken away from him. He finds the former comforting and the latter exciting, so it seems to depend on how he’s feeling as to which he wants. He’s pretty sexually aggressive either way, so I like both, to be honest. Him being in control is ridiculously sexy, whilst him trusting me enough to let me be in charge is a phenomenal feeling.

What I personally _really_ like to do to him is sexually tease him until he’s a wailing, squirming, needy mess because when he gets to that stage he generally comes so hard he nearly passes out. When he gets into this state he’s utterly incapable of being quiet though, so we can’t really do it unless Jack’s with Jordan otherwise we’d completely traumatize him. When he was younger he’d very occasionally heard JD making little yelping noises and had once rather innocently asked whether we’d bought him a puppy and were hiding it in our bedroom. This made Newbie particularly self-conscious, unsurprisingly.

He probably is well aware that I want to do that to him, but just to remind him as we get into the bedroom I growl into his ear “I’m going to make you come so hard you _scream_ , JD.” He shivers slightly against me and then kisses me hard. I stagger back to the bed and sit down, him straddling my lap and roughly kissing me, undoing my shirt as he does so. He breaks the kiss abruptly and shoves my shoulders hard, sending me sprawling onto my back. I stare at the ceiling, feeling him unbuttoning my slacks and then – ah, _fuck_.

His mouth is hot, his lips wrapped around my cock with a tight suction that makes my eyes roll back into my head. He must be kneeling at the foot of the bed, shoving my pants down and then freeing them from my ankles before the talented little bastard practically swallows me down, his nose pressed against my pubis. I hiss out a breath between my teeth and then feel myself twitch hard against his throat as he slides a hand up my chest.

Apparently my involuntary reaction made him choke slightly and he pulls back, panting. I sit up, catch his chin roughly in my hand and drag him up to kiss him brusquely. He snarls slightly against my teeth and licks at my incisors. I pull him into a slightly more punishing embrace and roll us over on the bed, lying full length on top of him. He arches his back to press himself hard against me and I break the kiss to growl into his ear “you are so _fucking_ good at that”. I catch his hair roughly and angle his head back, looking into his eyes. He stares back at me, his pupils blown, breathless.

This all seems quite brutal, almost feral, but sometimes this is _exactly_ what we both need. Vying for control and then one of us voluntarily giving it to the other, a careful bargain between us that is a lot more affectionate than it would likely seem to anyone. This is love at it’s most rough-hewn basics. But I always – _always_ – ask permission.

“Are you going to let me fuck you just how I want to and you want me to, sweetheart?”

He makes a soft keening noise and drops his head back, fully exposing his throat. “Oh God, yes.”

I kiss along his jugular softly and murmur “good boy” to him, hearing him let out a huff of laughter in response. He gently twines his arms and legs around me as I continue to nuzzle along his neck and up to his ear, feeling him shivering in response. I drop one hand down to cup his erection through his pants, leaning on my elbow to watch his face. His eyes shutter closed as I stroke along the length of him and then open wide again when I push my hand under the fabric of his pants and underwear to tenderly squeeze his swollen, leaking cock. He gasps and rolls his hips up against me.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” I whisper to him, dragging his pants and underwear down off his hips, his erection springing free. He hisses as the cool air runs over his heated skin and then wriggles out of the clothes tangling around his legs, kicking them off. I sit up, pulling my open shirt off and then pull him upright to drag his long sleeved T shirt off before lying flat against him, revelling in the feeling of his naked skin against mine.

“Now, since you used that gifted mouth on me I feel I should return the favor.”

He kisses me hard, apparently unwilling to give up all the control just yet. I grin against his mouth and stroke my hands down his body, enjoying the feel of his soft skin stretched over firm muscle. He’s (obviously) not as in shape as I am, but has a certain leanness that I find deeply arousing. He’s beautiful, an astounding human work of art. He doesn’t see it and sometimes I just want to scream at him to just damn well look at himself and see what I see.

I realize I’m getting maudlin and pull myself together.

I push him back, much more gently than he did with me and gently kiss down his chest, pausing to lick gently at the occasional well-healed scar. I eventually get to my goal and slide my tongue over the length of him. He gasps in response and I smirk and repeat the movement a few times before taking him into my mouth.

He makes a choked cry in response as I lathe my tongue over the velvety head of his cock and brush my teeth over it. Newbie may have worked on his technique and (arguably) have an edge on me, but that definitely doesn’t mean I can’t reduce him into a shuddering, panting mess when I want to. I fist the base of his cock firmly and swirl my tongue around him, drawing a soft groan out of him. As I repeat this movement I grab the lube I put here earlier (oh, I knew I was getting some, you’re not with someone this long without being able to figure that out) and deposit some into my hands, using just my mouth on his erection as I do so.

His leg twitches as I slide a finger into him and then release his cock from my mouth to start firmly jerking him off with one lubed-up hand, the other thrusting shallowly into him in time to my masturbating him. He groans loudly and arches his back in response, his hands splaying out on the bedsheets. I grin at him and release his cock to get some more lube, drizzling it over my hand thrusting steadily into his ass and using the extra lubrication to add a second finger. He grunts and I trickle more over his erection and then start to jerk him off again, feeling the blood pounding through his cock.

I keep going for a couple more minutes until he’s panting, alternately thrusting back against my fingers and up into my fist. His hands remain splayed on the bedsheets, his head arched back, occasionally letting out gasps and moans as I torment him with my hands.

“You ready for me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

“Oh God, yes.”

I withdraw my fingers and smirk at him when he makes a loud keening noise at their loss.

“Get on your knees.”

He sits up, looking dazed. “What, like on all fours?”

“No, kneeling.”

He looks slightly confused, but does as I ask, kneeling upright in the centre of the bed. I stand up and then move to behind him on the bed, kneeling directly behind him.

He has slightly longer legs than me, his lanky, almost cervine frame meaning I can bracket my legs between his knees, keeping them held apart at just the right angle. He makes a soft yelping noise as I do so, my cock pressing between his legs against his balls. My torso is longer than his, though, so I can pull his back flush against my chest, wrapping an arm around his waist to anchor him in place and have his head leaning against my shoulder. I grasp his chin firmly and turn his head so I can kiss him soundly. He kisses me back desperately, grinding his ass back against me and I grin into the kiss.

“Like this?” I ask him, trying to affect innocence.

“Yes, Perry, _please_.”

I kiss his cheek and scrabble around in the bedding with my free hand, grabbing the lube and passing it to him. “Do the honors, Newbie.”

He frowns, slightly confused. “But you already did me.”

“Yeah, but with this angle I’d rather overdo it than underdo it. Put it on me.”

He pours some of it onto his hands, warming it quickly before rising up more on his thighs and reaching down to massage it onto my erection. I press my nose against the back of his neck and groan quietly before gently biting the junction between his neck and his shoulder. He makes a strangled noise in response and briefly strokes his cock.

“No, bad Newbie. Arms up.”

“Huh?”

I grasp both his wrists with the hand not wrapped around his waist and pull his arms up above his head.

“Now put them behind my neck and keep them there.”

He pauses. “But they’re all lubey-“

“I don’t care, JD, do it.”

He does as I say, arching his back so he can wrap his hands around the back of my neck, his elbows raised above our heads. I hook my chin over his shoulder and he glances sideways at me.

“I wish we had a mirror in here,” I growl to him. “I want to see you like this. And see me fucking you like this.”

He grins at me. “Something to try later?”

“Bet your ass it is, Newbie.”

I drop my hand down to line myself up and then thrust up into him, entering him in one hot, slick movement, watching his face as I do so. His eyes close and his head drops back against my shoulder again, letting out a low groan.

“Oh, oh, oh, fuck.”

I close my eyes for a moment, savouring the sleek, silken, heated feeling of being inside him. He presses back against me and moans loudly. I open my eyes and grin at him.

“Want to know the rules of the game?”

He opens his eyes and looks at me, dazed and slightly disoriented.

“Yeah.”

I thrust up into him again and he gasps.

“You keep your arms where they are.”

I thrust again and he makes a soft yelping noise.

“Yeah.”

“And if you make noise I slow down.”

His eyes widen and he stares at me. “But you know I can’t-“

I thrust into him and he abruptly stops talking. I grin.

“I think you can.”

“Oh God, I’m going to lose this game.”

“Well, yeah. But in many ways you’ll win.”

I drop my free hand to start stroking his cock, sliding along the lube already there from earlier whilst I anchor his waist firmly and start to fuck up into him at a strenuous pace. He initially does quite well, only very occasionally letting out a choked little noise of pleasure which I decide I’ll let him have. Apart from those sounds the only other thing I can hear is the regular slap of our bodies meeting as I fuck him and the wet, squelching noise of my hand steadily pumping his erection. It’s indecently erotic and I have to grit my teeth to stop myself making any noise, thinking that would probably be hypocritical.

Of course, as we both knew, he can’t keep that up. As he gets closer his little whimpers become louder and I slow down the tempo, ripping a groan out of him.

“Oh, Perry, please…”

“That’s noise, sweetheart.”

“Hngh.”

“That’s a noise too.”

I’ve slowed down to a gentle, hip rolling rhythm, lazily stroking his cock. He shudders violently against me, his eyelids fluttering. His breath hitches and he gazes at me desperately, all dilated pupils and messy, slightly sweaty hair.

“Now, don’t try the doe eyes on me sweetheart, not going to work.”

If I’m being honest I kind of need the break, this is a pretty intensive workout considering I’m holding us both upright and fucking up into him. I’m sweating, feeling my hair sticking against my forehead. I nuzzle against him, breathing deeply and then kiss along his shoulder. He makes a soft, hopeless noise to himself as a wash of precome spills down his cock and his insides clamp around me fitfully. I grin and let go of his cock briefly to turn his head to look into his eyes.

“Did I just stop you from coming?”

He nods and then abruptly twitches against me again, his spine bowing as another stab of pleasure spikes through him.

“Well, think how good it’ll feel when you do,” I whisper into his ear.

“I’m never going to if you slow down each time I make a noise…”

“Have more self belief, Newbie.”

“Hngh, fuck.”

“Delightful.”

I’ve got my breath back and have also edged myself back from the brink (would be slightly embarrassing if I did this and then came before he did, he’d bring that up for _years_ ), so start to increase the pace again, fisting his cock in time with my thrusts. He doesn’t seem to be able to keep quiet as long this time, managing a few minutes with just heavy breathing and his teeth gritted before he lets out a loud, involuntary whine. I start to slow down in response and he rolls his eyes back to me frantically, his hair standing on end crazily.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t – oh, fuck, oh Perry, you bastard…”

He spasms against me again and then presses his back against me. I can feel him sweating now and his heartrate is thumping through him. I briefly let go of his cock to gently squeeze his balls and then rub a thumb over the glans of his cock head. He tenses against me and convulses. My hips snap forward on their own accord and I hiss as I stop myself from fucking into him a couple more times and orgasming. We’re both panting and his occasional shivers are being matched by me shuddering sporadically.

“This is tormenting you as much as it is me,” he grinds out.

“I know, that’s why it’s a fun game,” I gasp back.

“You’re so _fucking_ weird.”

“And you love it.”

He rolls his head back against my shoulder, opens his eyes and grins at me. “Yeah I do.”

I kiss him hard, well aware he can tell how desperate I’m getting. He kisses me back, an eager, frantic drive to his movements that makes my erection throb painfully. I stroke his cock again as I break the kiss to start fucking him hard again, knowing I can’t last much longer. He doesn’t even try to be quiet this time, starting with a soft mewling noise and then when he realizes I’m not going to stop he begins a litany of “oh, fuck, yes, oh God, Perry, oh, fuck, yes, please, harder, oh God, fuck me harder, yes, oh God, oh Perry, oh _fuck_ ”.

I feel like he’s flouting the rules of the game now, so kiss him hard to shut him up, moving my arm around from his waist and clamp both hands around his hips to start fucking him punishingly hard. He makes a delighted noise against my lips and rocks his hips back against me, meeting each thrust. I break the kiss to snarl out “ah, fuck, sweetheart, love you” and let go of one of his hips to firmly stroke his cock.

He abruptly stiffens and then suddenly he’s letting out an unapologetically loud wail, his body rippling against me as he comes hard, his fingers scrabbling against my neck, semen pulsing between my fingers as I continue to jerk him off as he orgasms. I manage a few more thrusts before I give in and come hard, growling against his neck, my hips snapping a staccato rhythm into him.

There’s a minute where we both just breathe hard and shudder, dropping down off the high we were both on and trying to regain enough oxygen to function. I keep holding onto him as I’m pretty sure he’ll just collapse onto the bed otherwise and wrap both arms around his waist. I eventually get enough air back into my lungs to pant out:

“That was _not_ quiet in the slightest, JD.”

“I know,” he wheezes back.

“You totally lost.”

“I totally won.”

“.. Yeah, you did.”

He opens his eyes and stares in front of us. “Oh God, there’s come everywhere.”

I pull out of him, allowing gravity and the abrupt change in pressure to result in lube and semen to start to drool down his thigh. He makes a disgusted noise in response.

“There’s even more now.” I grin at him.

“God, you’re revolting.”

I move away to a less damp area of the bed and sprawl on my back, continuing to grin at him. “What a thing to say, Newbie.”

He gives me a resentful look and then crawls over to me. I sling an arm around him and pull him close, resulting in him immediately snuggling up against me.

“If you keep doing that I’ll make you wear condoms again.”

“No you won’t, you hate them.”

He pulls a face. “Well, they feel horrible. Crinkly little bastards.”

I’m tempted to make a reference to Bobo being a crinkly old bastard, but suspect referencing Kelso in bed will probably properly disgust JD unlike his current faux squeamishness. I can go too far with this sort of thing and he always immediately lets me know when I have. Instead I deploy an old classic.

“Now, Fiona, I know you’re _desperate_ to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet but even without a condom it might be a bit too late for you.”

He hits me in the face with a pillow.

Ah, I went too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this was supposed to be a one shot, single chapter kind of thing. And then it all devolved into sex. Oops.
> 
> Incidentally, yes, they are now much less awkward in bed with each other. They've had a lot of practice.


	2. 02. My Warm Up

**My Cunning Plan**

**Chapter Two: My Warm Up**

**By RumCove**

Disclaimer: Scrubs original characters belong to Bill Lawrence and NBC/ABC/Doozer Productions etc. Basically, not owned by me.

I am trying once again to read the article that Craig suggested I look at in the Washington Medical Journal and am seriously getting nowhere. It’s about effective treatment of trauma in children and some new techniques specialists have found when researching therapy through play. It obviously isn’t the cheeriest of subject matters but very relevant to some of the cases we get in the trauma unit I run at Saint Bartholemew’s.

Unfortunately Perry has decided that he feels affectionate and is sprawled on the sofa watching football and wrapped around me like some kind of curly-haired python. He’s lying on his back with me spooned against his stomach and has so far thwarted my attempts to escape. I didn’t try too hard, if I’m honest, he's comfy. He also keeps running his hands under my shirt, which is resulting in me getting distracted roughly every four words. I really don’t want him to turn me on while I’m reading something like this, so I sigh and drop the journal.

I wriggle over onto my stomach and lay my head on his chest, inhaling the smell of him just out of the shower. Well, we both just got out the shower (after I complained constantly until he helped me change the bedding) and he smells of peppermint body wash and Perry. He feels comfortingly solid under my cheek and he gently pets my hair as I flatten myself against him. I wrap my arms around his waist and purr.

“Happy, Newbie?”

“Yeah.”

He pretty frequently gets affectionate after rough sex. He seems weirdly apologetic about it, despite how often I say (and physically demonstrate) that I damn well enjoy it. I’m not going to complain though, I’m a ridiculously tactile person and will absolutely take advantage of any strange misplaced guilt if it means I get to cuddle.

I close my eyes and sprawl bonelessly on him as he continues to watch football. I’m planning on faking being asleep so I can listen to him whisper sweet nothings to me that he’d never do if he knew I was awake. I realized he did this pretty early on in the relationship and never plan on telling him. I often sit and remember what he was saying when I’m having a bad day. Or I’m bored. Or he’s ranting at me about something. Or he’s watching football, geez, this is mind-numbing…

Also, I need to plot. I need to finalize The Greatest And Most Romantic Plan In The World (TGAMRPITW for short, only that’s not really very short). Hmn. Maybe the trick is to come up with an awesome abbreviation and then extrapolate from there. It needs to be something sexy. Or romantic. Or sexy and romantic. Or funny.

KAPOW? No, that’s not sexy. Or romantic. Or even funny, actually. ORGASM? Ew.

Unfortunately all the adjectives I can think of seem linked to the sex we just had and none of them seem romantic or even that sexy. SWEAT, JIZZ and COCKTEASE LUNATIC all keep appearing in my head and I frown.

“Are you trying to understand the game, Courtney? It’ll be going over your pretty little head.”

I open my eyes and glance up at him. “I do understand football, I just don’t care.”

“Sure, I saw your copy of ‘Football for Dummies’ in the basement.”

“Yeah, so you know I understand it. Also, Jack uses me plenty for tackling practice, so I have a pretty first-hand experience. I have a lot of empathy for the football.”

“You realize nobody tackles the actual football, right?”

“Whatever…”

I close my eyes again and he starts stroking my back, resulting in my sprawling over him even more. I bite back a second purr and snuggle down against his chest.

Right, keep plotting and wait for him to start telling me I’m beautiful and perfect and he couldn’t live without me. I have to wait until he does some test runs first, usually something along the lines of “JD, I changed my mind about Hugh Jackman” or “Do you want an appletini?”. This is quite hard not to react to.

Okay, abbreviation. Focus. Although I think I’m procrastinating from actually thinking about The Plan itself by doing this because, y’know, nerves. Just think of something quickly. Wine, I can call it after wine, wine is romantic and sexy. Or it is when I drink it off him. Champagne’s the best, bubbles…

Hell, let’s go with PROSECCO, although that is essentially cheap champagne and I kind of want to name it after a premium product now. Right, fine, Dom Pérignon. Nothing begins with é though.

Deeply… Optimistic… Moving… Plan… Enabling (énabling?)… Romantic… Intimate… Glamourous … Nubile… Obedient (Obstinate more like)… Nupitals.

Right, that will do. DOM PERIGNON. Or just The Plan.

Dom Pérignon is, like, stupidly expensive. I feel Perry wrap an arm around me and sigh softly against his chest, feeling warm and contented. Bottles of the stuff cost tens of thousands of dollars.

I bet it would be fun to drink off Perry…

\- - - - -

The door slams and I jerk awake, yelping out “fizzy dick”. Perry gives me a confused look.

I close my eyes and sigh to myself. Great, no planning done and no covert listening to Perry either. Lame. I can hear crashing around over by the door, which is presumably Jack taking off his football boots. This is followed by stomping around (he really does take after Perry) and then a loud dramatic sigh as he throws himself onto the floor in front of us. He possibly takes after me with some of his theatrics. I keep my eyes closed and focus on Perry stroking my back.

“I presume you lost?” Perry asks, his voice reverberating through my cheekbone.

“Yeah, was a fiasco. Meathead can’t catch for shit.”

“Don’t swear.” I chide absently, my eyes still closed, ignoring the fact I said “fuck” about eighty times this afternoon.

Perry does his standard “listen to your mother” joke and continues to stroke my back soothingly. Perry’s inability to demonstrate affection in front of anyone thankfully doesn’t include Jack or we would live in some weird Victorian England-esque household, where the furniture wears knickerbockers and Perry acts incredibly coldly towards me until we’re alone, at which point he would ravish me. And possibly the knickerbocker-wearing furniture.

I zone out of them talking football, focusing on the rumbling noise that comes out of Perry’s chest whenever he speaks and thinking about chairs in pantaloons. I’m just starting to fall asleep again when I hear Jack say:

“Why’s JD asleep?”

“’M not asleep…”

“He’s just tired from work.”

I open my eyes and shuffle into a sitting position, Perry reluctantly letting go of me. I stretch and stagger upright.

“Who wants spring rolls? Or maybe sweet and sour chi-“

Jack promptly football tackles me and I wish I’d stayed asleep. It was safe there.

\- - - - -

I’m prodding into a container of crispy beef with chopsticks to try and get the last scraps out. There’s a little crispy bastard that doesn’t want to get chopsticked and I growl at it for defying me. Perry pulls the container out my hands and upends it onto my plate. I stare sadly at the little beefy morsel.

“That’s no fun.”

“I can’t listen to you scraping around in there all night, Cassidy, I’m at work with all your moron friends tomorrow and need to conserve some patience for that.”

“It’s your job to conserve the patients.”

He rolls his eyes at me.

“So you’re at Sacred Fart tomorrow?” Jack interjects cheerfully.

Perry glares at Jack and I bite my lip but don’t manage to stop the slight snigger than escapes. Perry and Jack both glance at me.

“You can’t laugh, JD, you worked at Sacred Fart and now at Saint Fart’s.” Jack smirks.

I grin. “Saint Fartolemew’s.”

“Oh, good Lord, what did I do to deserve this?” Perry mutters, his head in his hands.

My cell chirps and I glance at it to see a WhatsApp message from Turk; “Need 2 talk 2 u, call me when ur alone”.

Perry’s still got his head in his hands so didn’t see that, thankfully. If Turk’s going to be part of DOM PERIGNON then he really needs to learn to be more subtle. I slide my cell off the table and hop off the bar stool.

“I’m going down to the basement.”

“Oh, are you not going to grace us with your assistance at cleaning this up, Sarah?”

I grin at Perry. “Nah, I hunted and gathered it, you clean it up.”

“You ordered it on your cell, Newbie.”

“That’s because I’m a twenty-first century hunter gatherer.”

I distantly hear Perry telling off Jack for not helping and to stay here, damnit, help me out, oh _fine_ , don’t help, you just go think about your smashmouth offense, sure, why would you help me, I’m just your Dad and been raising you single-handed with only the assistance of a cheerful little moron since you were seven…

I get down to the basement, sprawl onto my multi-colored beanbag that Turk and Carla bought me as a housewarming gift at my last place and call Turk, stroking Rowdy absent-mindedly as I do so. Turk answers on the second ring.

“J-Dog! How’s it-“

“Seriously, why did you send a message like _that_? What if he’d seen it?”

“Man, you’re overreacting.”

“No, I’m not. He’d have found out.”

“Not from that.”

I frown. “You don’t know him like I do. If you need to send anything then at least use some kinda code so there’s a slight chance he won’t immediately figure out what’s going on. That’d ruin everything.”

“Sure, sure, will do JD.”

“Is everything set up?”

“Yeah, it’s all ready.”

“And we’re on for tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“He thinks I’m working. Elliot’s going to cover if she needs to. She’s even saved some photos of me to send him to make him think I’m at work. If we need any back-up.”

“Dude, you’ve been watching too many spy dramas.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to plan something like this?”

I want a martini now.

“Chill, dude. It’ll be fine.”

I sprawl further back onto the beanbag and let out a shaky laugh. “You think?”

“Yeah, man. You nervous?”

“Of course I’m nervous. This is a really big step after nine years with him.”

“I guess. He’ll totally say yes though, man.”

“Augh, don’t say that, what if he doesn’t?”

“JD, I was with him today when he was getting the car for you. Like I said when you were dropping me off, he’s _so_ besotted with you. Hilariously so. I’m pretty sure he’s only not proposed to you because he thought you’d just run for the hills. Otherwise he’d totally be trying to put a ring on it.”

I sing along with him “Cause if ya like it then you shoulda put a ring on it” and laugh.

“Just relax, JD. It’ll be fine. See you tomorrow at eleven. Love ya, JD.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up and sigh softly. I’m pretty sure Turk’s right, that Perry will say yes (that Perry might even be pleased?), but there’s a horrible niggling part of my brain telling me that I’m crazy, that _of course_ Perry can’t want to be married to someone like me.

“Am I crazy, Rowdy?” I ask him. He gazes at me placidly, wearing a Wings T shirt to hide the worst of the motheaten parts and the stain where Jack puked on him after breaking into my cocktail bar.

“Yeah, you are.”

I drop my cell and nearly fall off the beanbag, briefly thinking Rowdy’s talking to me in an odd, slightly broken teenaged boy’s voice. I glance over at the stairs and see Jack standing in the gloom.

Oh, fuck fuck _fuck_ , what did he just overhear? I backtrack in my mind, desperate to try to figure out how much he could have heard.

“Jack? I didn’t see you there, buddy-“

He steps forward and I flinch at his expression. He looks like he’s been punched, his eyes wide and lost, staring at me. “JD? What are you doing?”

“I.. I’m not doing anything, I was just on my cell.”

“I know, I heard.”

He’s suddenly moved much closer to me and – and, _shit,_ he’s crying, what the fuck? Not sobbing or anything, but I can see tear tracks running down his face.

“JD, please… look, I know Dad isn’t the easiest person to live with but he loves you.”

I stare at him blankly.

“I mean… I mean, he really does and he’d be lost if you left him, JD. Please, I won’t tell him, I won’t say anything, but please don’t do it, please, he’ll be devastated. _I’ll_ be devastated, _I_ love you, please don’t do this.”

My brain seems to have entirely stopped working now, apparently working backwards to try to figure out what the hell Jack could have overheard and totally misinterpreted.

“Like, honestly, he’d _cry_ if you left him. I promise, I’ll stop tackling you and being mean…”

Jack’s started to sob now and apparently I’ve finally started to function again in response to seeing my son so distraught. I quickly walk over and wrap my arms around him, which results in him collapsing against my shoulder. _God_ , he’s heavy, he’s even heavier than Perry.

I think about what he just said; “honestly, he’d _cry_ if you left him”. Most kids probably wouldn’t say that in the way he just did, like Perry crying is so utterly inconceivable, like saying “honestly, he’d spontaneously combust”, but I don’t think Jack’s ever seen Perry cry. I have a few times, but he usually threatens me after that he’ll kill me if I tell anyone. He mainly does it around Steve-versary or if something makes him think of Ben.

I’ve got a horrible suspicion of what Jack’s thinking now. I carefully ask “Jack, who do you think I was just talking to?”

“Y-your lover, right?”

I sigh. “No.”

He pulls away from me brusquely. “Don’t lie to me, JD, I know what I heard.”

“Yes, you heard half of a conversation you weren’t meant to hear. That was Turk.”

He stares at me in horror. “Turk’s your lover?”

“What? _No_.”

Jack continues to stare at me in shock. I groan. “Look, that… I realize how that must have sounded, but it’s _not_ that, Jack. It’s… it’s… oh, hang on, where the fuck is it?”

I’m so distracted I just swore in front of him, shit. I look around wildly and then shove my hand into Rowdy’s mouth and pull out the ring box, flipping it open and showing it to Jack.

“I’m _not_ leaving him, I’m proposing to him. For God’s sake, don’t say anything.”

Jack looks between me and the ring, a watery smile running over his face and then he scrubs at his eyes.

“You’re _proposing_ to him?”

“Yes.” I wrap my arms around him again and hug him close, ignoring how heavy he is or the slight panic reaction I feel in response, telling my body to shut the fuck up and stop being ridiculous. This is the boy who I used to put band aids on when he scraped his knee or cuddle in bed when he’d had a bad dream. It's not his fault he grew up to be so intimidatingly massive. He wraps his arms back around me in a crushing hug. “I’d never leave your Dad. Or you.” I breathe into his ear, stroking his hair.

He pulls back and looks at me with fake disapproval, what appears to be a genuine grin breaking out over his face. “And you didn’t get my permission?”

“Nooo… You’re his son, not his father.”

“Well, I’m giving it to you anyway. Yay, you’re going to be my Mom.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I’m already your Mom. And your Dad. And your cool, young uncle.”

We both hear Perry opening the door at the top of the basement and spring apart. “Don’t say _anything_ ,” I hiss at him, shoving the ring box back into Rowdy’s trusty mouth.

“You mean you need some explanation about why I’m down here?”

I can hear Perry walking down the stairs and glance over to the bottom of the stairs, distracted. “Well yeah, what are we going to say is happening?” I see Jack’s expression and what he’s planning and freeze. “Oh, shi-“

He tackles me again. There’s a pause and then I feel Perry join in the dog pile and wish I’d just stayed asleep this evening. My bruises have bruises.

\- - - - -

After a ridiculously busy morning, I’m sat on the railings outside Sacred Heart fifteen minutes before I’m planning on meeting Turk. I’m also in disguise, because I’m waiting for someone. I’m wearing one of Perry’s football hoodies, the hood up over most of my face and a pair of baggy pants. I know I have to be careful because if he sees me then he’ll back off and I won’t be able to catch him. I also have to be careful that the ridiculously heavy backback I have on doesn’t make me overbalance and crash down into the plants behind me.

And _yes,_ as suspected, there he is. He’s distracted, looking around and beelining towards the entrance that I’m sat outside of, looking like a delinquent. I’m even smoking a fake cigarette (it has baby powder in to make “realistic” smoke), which he’d never think I’d do because, y’know, _doctor_. I would be _the best_ spy.

I narrow my eyes and watch him getting closer. When he passes me I hop off the railings behind him and grab his wrist.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

I pull my hood down and glare up at him. He wheels around and smirks.

“Hiding from me, Scooter?”

He looks weird out of his gray overalls. He’s dressed like a real person and it seems oddly unreal. I’ve probably not seen him up close in five years and he doesn’t seem to have aged at all, which is also disturbing. I’m slightly worried he’s some sort of Stephen King villain.

“Waiting for you, more like. Not today, Janitor.”

“I have a name.”

“I genuinely don’t believe you do. And you’re not wrecking today, I know you’ll have somehow figured it out despite Turk’s best efforts to keep it secret. _Not today_ , alright? Take your pick of other days, not this one. I’ll even not complain about you flattening Perry One with that truck.”

“What’s today? I’m just coming in to work.”

“You don’t work here any more.”

“I’m picking up my final pay check?”

“You’ve not worked here for five years.”

“I don’t understand banking systems?”

I narrow my eyes. “How do you know about The Plan?”

“I don’t know anything about DOM PERIGNON.”

I release his wrist and back off slightly. What the hell, is he actually reading my mind? No one knew about that and I didn’t even write that in a Unicorn Journal or anything. I clearly look freaked out, since he grins in response, knowing he’s scored a point.

“Fine, Scooter Pie, I’ll stay away, although I think you could use my help.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“I’ve been coming in and out of this hospital in different guises for _years_.”

“Just because you used to pretend to be Klaus and Nigel-“

“Nah, I mean since then as well.”

Ah, he’s been coming into Sacred Heart after leaving as the Janitor. I should probably tell Perry that.

“So… what?”

“So you need to get in and around to get everything ready to pop the question to Angry Doc, right? And he not see you?”

“Seriously, how do you _know_ this?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Need my help or not, Romeo?”

I frown. If I say no he’ll probably do something awful whilst I’m distracted. If I say yes then he’ll do something awful when I’m watching him. Arguably the latter is the better option.

“Fine,” I growl at him, narrowing my eyes. “I’ll let you near this, but you do _not_ do anything to screw it up, alright?”

He salutes me, which makes me immediately concerned.

“Dude, what’s he doing here?”

I drag my suspicious gaze away from the Janitor to look over at my best friend. Turk has, for once, appeared on time.

“Honestly? I think he’s messing with me, but I don’t have time to neutralize him.”

Turk narrows his eyes at the Janitor. “What are you doing, man?”

“I’m helping out with the romance of the decade.”

I roll my eyes and glance at Turk. “I might need you to keep an eye on him.”

Turk stares at me in horror. “I’m already trying to sort all your other activities, man, I can’t look after _him_ as well.”

Oh, great, _I_ have to keep an eye on him? This isn’t going to go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YASSSSSS JANITOR. I love that he doesn't even bother pretending he didn't flatten Perry One. And I'm pretty sure that the Janitor is basically the Walkin' Dude from The Stand and I've sort of written him that way in MCA-verse. Although he does actually look out for JD when it's needed (notably in MCA he intentionally drops a comment that helps them find JD and in MCP he flags Summers' shitty behaviour to Perry).
> 
> I wish to make it clear that I did not intentionally create a hospital called "Saint Bartholomew's" just for the Jack/JD fart jokes. For some reason I can really clearly imagine that scene, including Perry's total exasperation with both of these idiots.
> 
> Also, JD hiding the ring in Rowdy's mouth. Come on. It's EXACTLY what he'd do.


	3. 03. DOM PERIGNON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is longer than intended. Oops. Again.
> 
> Split POV incoming. Also, I think that this is the most Scrubs thing that I've ever written, this massively entertained me.

**My Cunning Plan**

**Chapter Three: DOM PERIGNON**

**By RumCove**

Disclaimer: Scrubs original characters belong to Bill Lawrence and NBC/ABC/Doozer Productions etc. Basically, not owned by me. 

So, I think this is working initially. After threatening the Janitor with a fate worse than death, Turk has smuggled me into Sacred Heart’s waiting room, where I’m continuing to sit in my football hoody and generally doing a pretty good impression of a delinquent. I think I should maybe be pleased with myself at this, but have the feeling that being able to successfully appear to be a member of the underbelly of society isn’t something one should celebrate. Especially when one is trying to build a decent wine collection in one’s basement, this is maybe against my various attempts to gentrify myself.

I’m staring at my sneakers with my hood pulled up and occasionally flashing an annoyed glance at the Janitor, who is sat next to me and also managing to successfully blend in. I’m actually genuinely starting to become concerned that he's some character from The Stand and heralds the beginning of the apocalypse.

“So… how often do you come here, would you say?”

“Are you trying to chat me up, Scooter?”

He looks slightly horrified at the prospect.

“No, _obviously_. Just you seem pretty at home sneaking around here.”

“I need to understand what’s going on.”

I frown at him. “I’m not even going to ask if you come to Bart’s, that’s too disturbing to consider.”

He gives me a lopsided grin in response. I’m pretty sure he’s just answered my unasked question _way_ more than I wanted him to.

“So… what’s the plan here?”

I grimace, weighing up the options of answering him. I then grudgingly reply:

“I need to get the pager off of the on-call nurse.”

We both look over at the nurse behind reception, who I’m relatively sure is the nurse Perry has described to me previously as “Coffee Nurse Mark IV”. Perry generally seems to describe the nurses by the beverages or snacks that they provide or are situated near. He used to be particularly fond of “donut nurse” until he mysteriously put on ten pounds in less than a fortnight and then refused to associate himself with her any more.

He went to the gym a lot after that, which resulted in him becoming annoyed with The Todd repeatedly speaking to him. I’m not allowed to tell anyone that The Todd once came over to the house for dinner after Perry was apparently feeling social after a gym session with him. I thought it was kinda cute that it showed he had a heart, whilst Perry decided it meant he had become weak and I should shut the hell up, Newbie.

It was quite a nice evening, actually. If you ignored The Todd repeatedly asking us for sex tapes and then later, when drunk, whether we’d be interested in a threesome.

(Incidentally, we absolutely weren’t. Even if I was (and nooo, not really and definitely not with The Todd) then Perry is not the type to share. I’m pretty sure any attempt at a threesome would result in the third party horribly murdered whilst I complain about stainage on the bedsheets and Perry growls pointlessly at the scattered bloody remnants.)

I shudder slightly, trying to center myself in the present and away from murderous threesomes.

“That surgeon’s expecting you to steal pagers?”

I shake my head. “Nah, she knows me. I’m pretty sure I can convince her.”

The Janitor glances over at Coffee Nurse Mark IV. “I can get it, if you want?”

“Seriously?”

I sound incredulous, but I’m mainly a combination of scared and impressed.

“Yeah, I know Doris. She’s a good lady, a fine lady.”

I narrow my eyes at him again, but figure I can just claim that this is research to figure out how deeply he’s penetrated (hah) Sacred Heart.

“Sure, if you think you can get her pager then go for it.”

He salutes me again (what the hell?) and strolls over to the desk. Within a minute I can physically see him turning the charm on and Doris (seriously, is she actually called Doris? She’s, like, the sexiest Doris in the world, who the hell under sixty is called Doris anyhow?) seems to be responding. About five minutes later he strolls over and passes me the pager.

“She’s really letting you do this?”

“Yeah, she reckons Angry Doc will be confused if she plays dumb.”

I glance up at him. “You realize I’m genuinely concerned by this?”

He grins at me. When I frown he keeps the grin in place for an uncomfortable length of time and I eventually break my gaze to look back down at the pager and do what I need to do. When I look finish and look back up he’s still grinning at me in a weird fixed way.

“Stop that and give this back to Doris. And put this on the desk as well.”

\- - - - -

I stare blankly at the white coat on my door. Why the hell do I even have that any more? When did I last do any treatment or procedure or… or _anything_ that didn’t involve a fucking spreadsheet?

I sigh, leaning back in my chair and massaging my temples. Sure, this job means I can make a huge difference, but damn it, it can be frustrating. I idly prod my computer, wiping away the screensaver to return to my home screen. My background is a photo of JD and I sat together, taken in the wildflower meadow at the back of our house. It’s a relatively rare photo in that JD’s actually in it (he usually takes the photos and basically runs off if anyone tries to take one of him, apart from his various ridiculous selfies) and that we’re both looking normal. I generally look pissed off or weirdly anxious in photos, whilst JD normally looks like he either isn’t paying attention (often isn’t) or is shocked/horrified. In this one we’re both actually looking happy, I’ve got an arm wrapped loosely around him, grinning at the camera whilst Newbie is beaming, a hand on my knee. The added bonuses that Jack took the photo and that the meadow has a special significance to both of us are pretty much why it’s my favorite photo.

I smile at it – the other reason this is my background is that when I get really annoyed I can look at it and it always makes me grin stupidly. I also hide it from anyone else, although Carla did see it on one occasion and went “awwwwwww” until I glared her into silence. Then grinned stupidly when she’d gone.

My pager suddenly vibrates on my desk and I frown at it, picking it up and reading the message. “Come to reception”? I blink at it, confused. What the hell reason would anyone have to summon me to reception?

I haul myself out of my chair with a slight groan (damnit, I need to go back to the gym again, I’m being too kind on myself), leaving the pager on my desk. As I leave my office I pull the white coat on because – for God’s sake – I can still at least masquerade as a doctor. I jab at the button for the closest elevator and then see it’s out of order and grimace at it. Great, something else that needs fixing.

Coffee Nurse is lounging against the desk, looking utterly bored when I arrive. She glances at me and looks confused.

“Doctor Cox? Did you need something?”

I’m slightly distracted for a moment by a bunch of wildflowers which are stood on the desk in a vase with a large letter “M” emblazoned on it. It’s hard to miss, a riotous mix of colorful flowers in a vivid yellow vase; I don’t remember that being there when I came in this morning and it seems a slightly strange thing to have on a reception desk. I frown and then look back at Coffee Nurse.

“I got a page to come down here.”

She stares at me blankly. “I didn’t send you anything, Doctor Cox. Did your page definitely say to the main reception?”

I’m not sure it did, actually. But if it was to a specific reception then you’d think whoever sent it would include that detail. I shrug, grab a cup of coffee (because why not, when it’s there?), throw another look at the flowers and then go back to my office. I pick up the pager to check.

My last message has gone. I stare blankly at it. These pagers absolutely need replacing, shitty buggy system. I sigh and throw it back onto the desk before collapsing back onto my chair.

I wake the PC up again, about to email a long pager-based rant to someone in HR and frown at my computer background. Or, rather, I frown at the setting. Wildflowers are in incredibly unusual bouquet to leave at a hospital.

Feeling slightly suspicious I pick up my cell and check on WhatsApp to see when Newbie was last active. Apparently one hour ago. I narrow my eyes and then notice him come online for around 30 seconds and then go offline again. Another 30 seconds later I get a message from Barbie.

It's a photo of Newbie glowering at a clipboard, leaning against the nurses’ station at St Bartholomew's with a caption underneath: “JD trying to decipher his own handwriting”.

It’s a slightly odd joke, since Newbie actually has pretty nice handwriting (he has absolutely taken calligraphy classes, the massive girl) whilst I’m the one with the stereotypically awful “doctor” handwriting. He writes all our joint greetings cards because my handwriting “looks like a spider fell in ink and then had a seizure”. He does the wrapping too. He likes using ribbons in gift wrap.

I mean, I’m really not all that confused by my sexuality, since as far as I can see I’m pretty much still completely straight.

I reply with “Thanks Barbie” and turn back to my computer, the slight frown still on my face.

\- - - - -

“Great, he totally noticed the flowers.”

“Hard to miss in that vile yellow color.”

I glance at the Janitor. “Oh, you’re suddenly a connoisseur on taste, are you?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t seem very romantic to me.”

“Yeah, but dead squirrels are romantic to you.”

He goes misty-eyed. “Exactly, Scooter. You should have used me as a wingman, I could have made a taxidermy display spelling out your proposal. Now _that_ would be romantic.”

“You’re so weird,” I inform him distractedly, unlocking my cell and updating Elliot and Turk so they can do their stuff.

“You don’t know true romance unless you’ve seen stuffed rodents contorted into a heart shape.”

“Also, the vase is yellow entirely to be eye-catching. It’s all about the effect, the vases themselves aren’t intended to be romantic.”

“It’s the color of urine.”

I grimace. “If your’s is that color then you really need to see a doctor.”

“I can see one right now.”

He points at me. When I just stare at him in exasperation he slowly moves his finger closer to my face. When I still don’t react he continues until his finger is pressed between my eyebrows. I frown at him, dislodging his finger.

“You’re really _really_ weird.”

“Where next, Don Juan?”

\- - - - -

I manage about twenty minutes of work before my pager goes off again. I glower at it, not in the mood for another pointless waste of time because of some gremlins in the system.

The page is from Carla though, so even if it is a waste of time at least it would be with someone who I actually enjoy spending wasted time with. She sounds pissed though; “What are you doing to my nurses? Bothering them on shift and stealing coffee?? Come see me at my station.”

I frown. This is basically my hospital and I did use her husband yesterday to go pick up a car, but maybe Gandhi didn’t tell her about that. I sigh and get up again. I glance at my pager suspiciously and then put it into the pocket of my coat. I’m pretty sure it was just a bug, but I’ll keep it on me just in case. I pass the broken elevator and throw it an annoyed glance.

There’s a fair bit of activity at the nurses’ station. Some guy in gray overalls seems to be up a ladder with his head in the ceiling, presumably fixing a light and several nurses are hanging around the place. Most of them scatter when I approach, with one wearing a surgical face mask and covered hair apparently becoming trapped behind Carla at the desk and scurrying around behind her, apparently trying to find some paperwork to escape with.

Another yellow vase full of wildflowers is sat on the station. I stare at it, thinking it’s moved from reception for a second, but this vase has an O on it.

“Doris says you came and bothered her for no reason.”

“Who’s Doris?” I mutter, still staring at the flowers. Then suddenly realize that I’ve never used “Doris” with JD and feel a surge of triumph. Carla clears her throat pointedly and I look back at her.

“On reception?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Oh. Coffee Nurse. Anyway, I didn’t bother her, I got a page. I think the system’s going haywire.”

“Seems to be working fine for everyone else,” says Carla pointedly.

“I am actually Chief of Medicine, Carla, I can go wherever I want.”

“Not to annoy my nurses you can’t.”

I roll my eyes. I would stay and antagonize her for a while, but facemask nurse appears to have given up trying to come up with a reason to escape and is writing notes behind Carla. I don’t hugely fancy an audience, particularly since Carla pretty often gets one over me in our verbal to and fro.

“Fine, consider me properly told off for daring to leave my office and venture out into my hospital.”

“Well, you still seem to be doin’ it.”

I pull a face at her, give the flowers a final confused glance and leave.

\- - - - -

Carla nudges me with her shoe.

“ _Seriously_ Bambi?”

“What?” I turn around and pull the face and hair masks off. “I look good in pink.”

“Yeah, it totally suits you. He definitely noticed the flowers.”

“Awesome.”

“Are you planning on telling me what all this is about?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” I grin.

“You’ve definitely got something living up here,” floats down from above us.

“Why did you bring him?”

“I didn’t _bring_ him. Well, not voluntarily, anyway.” I glance up. The Janitor looks down at us both.

“I think it’s a raccoon. Or an enormous rat.”

He drops something onto my head and then bursts out laughing when I shriek.

“Relax, it wasn’t – oh, wait, no, that was a rat. Sorry there, Rizzo.”

\- - - - -

I only manage fifteen minutes this time before my pager goes off again. I growl and fish it out of my coat pocket, narrowing my eyes when I see the message. Of all the idiotic…

My foul mood apparently makes no impact whatsoever on that moronic jock surgeon, who just grins at me, looking over from where he appears to be supervising an ongoing surgery through the partition glass.

“What is it?” I snarl at him. “I swear, frat-pack, if this is a pointless waste of my time then I will seriously make you regret it.“

“Hey, man, chill. And I never regret _anything_.”

He lifts his eyebrows at me repeatedly and starts to lift his hand for a high five.

“No,” I snap at him and he drops his hand down, a sullen look on his face. “What did you actually _want_?”

“Well, Turk’s not on shift today and I wanted some advice from management.”

Oh my God, this better not be yet another sexual harassment case, I’m getting tired of seeing those HR memos.

“Yesss?” I ask warily, wondering if I’ll need to ask Flopsweat for “legal advice”.

“Is this too much?”

He’s… he’s just put on a bandana with “show me your boobies” written on it. I feel my eyebrows raising into my hairline.

“I mean, as a guy who bones guys, if you saw this would you assume I wasn’t interested? Because I don’t want to limit my options with my fashion choices.”

I notice one of the surgeons visibly flinch, which is unusual in that they usually can’t hear what’s going on outside because they’ve got their terrible music turned on to such a high volume. Maybe I’m so pissed off it’s sending out telepathic red alerts or this is one of the few scalpel jockeys who doesn’t need revoltingly loud R&B to focus. Thinking of that, there’s some girly whiny pop music on, so yeah, sounds about right.

Apparently my expression and my now massaging my temples with one hand hasn’t given him the message to stop, since he continues with: “I mean, I could just go with “show me your unmentionables”, but some unmentionables really _are_ unmentionable, if you know what I-“

“Oh my God,” I thunder at him, snapping my hand away from my temple and glaring at him. “Have you _seriously_ called me to – I mean, I’m actually having trouble formulating my words I’m so angry here, Steve Stifler, and _that_ is one hell of an achievement. As you’re aware, I basically function on “very angry” as a baseline. So, to give you my advice, in order, both chronological and in terms of increasing idiocy; _yes_ , that is too much, _no_ , you should not be wearing a bandana, who in the hell wears bandanas anyway, we’re not at a rave in a field in the 90s. Do you need glow sticks as well?”

“It keeps my hair out of my face during surgery.”

“Did I say you could interrupt me, Daisy?”

I notice the surgeon twitch again and wonder if they’ve just got a nervous tick. Maybe I really do need to get Flopsweat down here, I don’t want sexual harassment complaints and a surgeon who keeps nicking arteries because of a nervous spasm.

“Your surgical cap should keep your goddamn hair out of your face, boy wonder. I am truly horrified that I’m having to state this, but no, you should _not_ be wearing any sexually suggestive or explicit items of clothing when operating on patients at my hospital. It’s irrelevant whether these do or do not hinder your ability to literally attempt to have sex with everything around you, both animate and inanimate, not that I imagine anyone has ever been successfully seduced by a doo-rag – and yes, I know that’s a black guy thing, but you seem the type to enjoy cultural appropriation, jock strap, and _no_ , not an innuendo, put that hand down. Finally, I would _strongly_ advise against addressing your boss’ sex life in terms of him being a “guy who bones guys”, particularly when you’re well aware he only “bones” one guy. If you can even categorize Sigourney as a guy, which I think is being very generous about someone who genuinely hopes that unicorns exist and keeps watching National Geographic in the hope that he’ll see one.”

I pause, panting and glaring at him with eyes which I know look utterly unhinged. He grins back, completely unaffected.

“I guess I’ll dig out that “show me your unmentionables” one then?”

I lift my hands to my head, make a small gasping noise of horror and then stalk out. Then stalk back in, pointing accusingly at the item on the bench by the sinks.

“Why the fuck is there a vase of wildflowers in here? And what the hell does R mean?”

He glances over at it and shrugs. “Rack?”

\- - - - -

I watch Perry turn on his heel in disgust and practically flounce out the room, wondering how he can comment on my masculinity when he walks like that when he’s annoyed. I stalk (in a manly, masculine fashion) over to the glass.

“Dude, what the hell?”

The Todd grins at me and attempts to high five me through the glass.

“Did I do a good job?”

“You were just supposed to show him the bandana. Why did you do the whole “guy who bones guys” thing? You must have known that would piss him off!”

“I wanted to know. It was bothering me.”

“Can I get off the operating table yet?” I hear from behind me.

“No,” I snap back at the Janitor. I was actually hoping I could get the anesthetist to knock him out for a few hours, but he wouldn’t let me put the mask on him “because I know you want to harvest my organs, Scooter.”

I walk through to the observation room and start pulling all the protective gear off, feeling weird in green scrubs. “I can’t believe you said that to him.”

“What’s the problem? Hey, you bone guys, would the bandana put you off-“

“Your personality would put me off.”

“Oh,” he shrugs and then grins. “But not the bandana, right?”

I glare at him. He puts his hand up and I reluctantly high five him, since he’s helped me out. “Yeah, whatever.”

I hear the door slide open as I try to pull my gloves off at the sink. “Hey, Scooter, how come you were the surgeon and I was the patient, huh? Think you’re better than me, that you could be a surgeon and I couldn’t?”

What are these gloves made of, taffy? I struggle with one and roll my eyes, not turning around.

“No, I thought he’d notice your height and realize that Sacred Heart doesn’t have a freakishly tall surgeon on the books. Might give the game away a bit.”

After all, Turk and I aren’t around to do Giant Doctor. I finally get the glove off and turn around to bin it, flinching as I see him.

“Oh my _God_ , put some clothes on.”

The Todd looks delighted. “Penis five!”

\- - - - -

I snarl at my desk and give the bottle of the scotch on the bookcase a longing glance. No, no drinking on the job…

Even if that moronic jock entirely makes it justified.

I sigh and slump back into my chair. Even the goddamn background isn’t raising a smile now. I moodily open Outlook and flick through some boring emails and approximately six billion pharmaceutical reps trying to assure me that they’re the best in their godless fields and exactly what my hospital needs.

My pager goes off again and I bite back a curse. What the hell, usually my having the thing is only ever a nod to me being of any use in a life or death situation any more. I usually get around one page a week and that’s usually when they’re testing the system. Or telling me that I’m late to a budget meeting.

Great, so I’m being paged to the ICU now.

I’m _so_ tempted to ignore it, but have basically resigned myself to having lost this entire afternoon anyway and it’s not like I was actually doing anything in my office, apart from staring at emails and wanting to throw my computer out the window. And what if it actually is a medical emergency that can only be treated by Jesus H Cox, MD?

As soon as I arrive I know it’s not a medical emergency, since the medical staff seem to be gently ambling around rather than frenetically running all over the place trying to save lives. I glance around, trying to figure out who dared to page me and then stop and glare. The damn yellow vase is sat on a table next to a patient’s bed. Apparently appreciating that you shouldn’t have flowers in the ICU, the vase is empty, which makes it seem particularly bizarre. This one has a G on it.

I stalk over to the bed. Unusually for the ICU, this patient is conscious and reading a paperback. A quick look at his chart shows that he’s just had surgery so presumably is only here for immediate recuperation. I flick my eyes up to his name.

“Excuse me, Mr Scott?”

He looks up and smiles benignly at me. “Yes Doctor?”

White coat still works fine then. Well aware that this is going to sound weird, I point at the vase. “Did a visitor leave that for you?”

“Oh,” he looks at the vase. “No. One of the staff left it there. It’s very cheerful though, isn’t it? Nice thing to do. Pity about the wildflowers.”

I lift my eyebrows at this and he laughs. “Oh, he explained that he wanted to put flowers in it, but that pollen shouldn’t be in here because some of the other patients have breathing difficulties. He showed me a photo of the flowers on his cell when I was disappointed at not seeing them. He said he’d put them into the vase for me when I was moved out of the ICU and into my own room.”

“What did he look like?” I growl, although I’m pretty sure I know the answer. Only Newbie would be soppy enough to show an old guy some photos of flowers on his cell and make a promise like that to a patient. And only he would be crazy enough to be bothering me like this. “Did he look like a little girl in a grown man’s lanky body?”

Mr Scott looks slightly confused. “Uh, well…”

I’m about to launch into a detailed and punishingly accurate physical description of JD when there’s a crash further down the room. I look over and then stalk over to a familiar shambling figure.

“Is it you doing this, Lurch?”

“Doing what?” He widens his eyes, staring at me.

“Why are you even here? You haven’t worked here for-“

“I’m visiting someone.”

“You don’t _get_ visitors in the ICU. And why are you wearing scrubs? Please God tell me you’re not trying to medically treat anyone, the law suits would be horrendous.”

He starts on some lie and I call for security. He slightly desperately tries again to explain and then runs. I dart after him, finally glad to be able to _do_ something. I get as far as the corridor, attempt to football tackle him and miss, crashing into a gurney and then yelling at security again to catch the lunatic.

\- - - - -

I pull the breathing mask off and glance over at the commotion coming from the corridor. I would feel gratitude towards the Janitor for diverting Perry from interrogating Mr Scott, but I’m pretty sure that he was trying to strap me onto the bed and inject a sedative before I shoved him away and Perry noticed the noise of him hitting the bed behind. I hear a painful noise which I immediately interpret as “funny bone connecting with metal bit of gurney” and flinch before hearing Perry yelling for security again, his voice several octaves higher than previously. Well, I hope that was his funny bone, then…

I slide out from under the bed sheets and scurry over to the neighboring bed.

“Thanks Mr Scott, you’re the best. I’ll bring those flowers in for you in a couple days.”

There’s another crash from outside and we both glance over. “You’re welcome, son. Is everything alright? And why did he describe you as… as…?”

“Oh, a little girl in a grown man’s body?” I shrug. “At least he called me a man, that’s more than he’ll usually do. Don’t worry about it, he’s just weird.”

There’s a scream of rage outside and then a furious roar of “I’ll make sure you never Janitor in this state _again_ , come back you rat bastard”. Mr Scott and I look at each other and I shrug.

I’ve got one final quarry, so grab the now significantly lighter backpack from under Mr Scott’s bed and leave, carefully keeping away from the fading noises of fury down the corridor, instead sensing the vibes of utter hopelessness and desperation and following them to the source. Ted’s sat in the cafeteria, sadly drinking a cup of coffee. It’s like someone painted what bleakness looks like; I bet the coffee’s cold. I sit down opposite him.

“Hi Ted.”

He looks up at me and groans. “You killed someone, didn’t you?”

I frown at him. “Ted, I’ve not worked here for five years, I’m at Saint Bart’s now.”

“Awww, you killed someone there and are claiming it’s because of your teaching here?”

He starts to scrabble around in his briefcase.

“No Ted, no one died.”

He looks at me suspiciously. “Then why are you talking to me?”

I’m tempted to bullshit for a bit and get into his good books to get him to do what I want, but I don’t really have time. Also, I’m pretty sure he’d see through that.

“I need you to help me out with something.” He opens his mouth to interrupt me so I continue with “and it’s _not_ to do with killing anyone, okay?”

“What is it then?”

I explain what I need him to do.

\- - - - -

I stand in reception, panting slightly, watching the Janitor getting hauled out the door. I didn’t have to follow him all the way out, but I wanted to make sure he was out the goddamn building. Maybe I’ll get some peace and quiet now.

“Doctor Cox?”

I glance back at Coffee Nurse (Doris? Must remember to use that on JD tonight. Also, old lady names, there must be a whole host I’ve not used before, Beryl, Ada, Cora, Maude, this opens a whole new universe of opportunities).

“Yes?”

“There’s just been a call from Mr Buckland, he’s asking you to come to his office.”

I nearly ask who the hell Mr Buckland is before I remember it’s Hyperhidrosis-Hugh’s real name. I sigh. “Did he say why?”

“Something about janitorial staff and malpractice suits.”

I groan and prepare myself to have to listen to a half hour of his neurotic whining. I pass the damn broken elevator again (why is the most convenient one broken, damn it?) and take the functional one to the fourth floor and go into his office. I’ve just settled on the demeaning nickname to use (Sweaty-Pie) and am about to launch into it when I pause.

There’s a yellow vase of damn wildflowers on his desk, this one with a U on it.

“What’s that doing there?” I demand. He looks over at it and then shrugs.

“It makes me smile,” he replies, defensively.

“ _Nothing_ makes you smile, Captain Sadsack. Where’s that from, did that bastard Janitor leave it here?”

“Doctor Cox, I heard about the Janitor in the ICU and-“

I frown. “And where did you hear that? It just happened.”

He steeples his fingers and tries to look professionally intimidating, which is just plain sad. “I have my sources.”

I sigh. I’m getting nowhere here. I give Sweaty Teddy and the vase a final infuriated glance, point out that the insane former Janitor being in the ICU doesn’t open us up to any legal challenge and stalk out, catching the elevator back up to my office. I arrive there and shut the door with a groan, reaching up to massage my temples yet again. I look over at the desk and physically jump at what I see.

There’s a yellow vase of wildflowers on my desk. The vase has an E on it.

M-O-R-G-U-E

Fair enough, that’s not creepy at all. I think I would be properly freaked out if no one else could see the things, but they’re definitely not just in my imagination so are presumably not being visited on me as a sign from the Grim Reaper. I’m relatively sure that that this is somehow linked to Newbie – the damn wildflowers are a pretty big hint. Little bastard’s scampering around the hospital leaving vases all over the place and trying to drive me crazy. And possibly framing the Janitor whilst he’s doing it.

I have absolutely no idea why, of course, but presumably if I go down to the morgue I’ll find out whatever the hell his next step is on this weird, annoying treasure hunt he’s apparently being pulling off. I glance out of my window; it’s nearly 4pm, I’ve lost all of the afternoon on this ridiculous exercise.

I growl and stalk out of my office, catching the elevator to the basement where Nervous Guy and the corpses hang out. Nervous Guy himself appears to be sitting outside his own morgue, sulking slightly, presumably because he’s been ejected for whatever the hell awaits me in there.

“Hey, Pee Pants. Is Nancy in there?”

He looks even more nervous than usual. “Nancy? I don’t know a Nancy. Or JD. Oh God. I… I need to go, Doctor Cox… I… I have an urgent appointment with… er… a patient.”

He scurries off down the corridor, ignoring my pointed “your patients are all dead, Nervous Guy.”

I open the door and, as expected, see Newbie. Rather unexpectedly, the morgue is candle-lit with a yellow vase of wildflowers on the bench and Newbie himself is leaning against a wall looking ridiculously good in a dark suit. He grins at me.

“Hey.”

“Hey. I thought this stunt was you.”

He pouts slightly. “Aw. I was trying to surprise you.”

I glance around. “Newbie, I hate to ask, but why have you lured me down to a morgue and lit it with candles like some sort of segue into the Addams Family? You’ve not googled something to do with corpse sex, have you?”

“Ew. No. Is that a thing?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Well, the morgue was a place that I could keep stuff cold.”

He saunters towards me, an uncharacteristically suave expression on his face. Not taking his eyes from mine, he leans over to one of the mortuary cabinets and slides the drawer open, reaching down into it. His eyes widen and a slightly horrified expression briefly runs over his face.

“You’re touching a corpse right now, aren’t you?” I ask him.

He glances down and pales before narrowing his eyes and hissing “Janitor” accusingly to himself. He kicks the drawer closed and opens the one next to it, hurriedly pulling out a chilled bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“That actually would have been pretty impressive if you hadn’t got the wrong drawer.”

“I didn’t… it got moved.” He looks pissed off.

“Yeah, sure Newb. Please go sterilize your hands, I’ll open that.”

He hurriedly passes me the champagne and goes and washes his hands. I pull the cage off and start to open the bottle before remembering him apparently blaming the Janitor for moving it. Slightly worried, I make sure I pull the cork facing as far away from me as possible in case it explodes. Fortunately the bottle doesn’t seem to have been sabotaged. I turn it around and read the label.

“Jesus Christ, Newbie, Dom Pérignon?”

“How do you know about Dom Pérignon?!”

“I can read, you know.”

He looks at me, somehow confused. He then looks down at the bottle and an odd expression runs over his face before he grabs it and quickly pours two glasses. “Uh, well, you know… you bought me a car…”

“Yeah, and a bottle of this costs _as much_ as a car, Newb.”

“Yeah yeah yeah…” he hands me a glass, looking oddly freaked out.

“What’s all this about, JD?”

“All what?” He makes an innocent expression at me. His is much more believable than the ones I generally make at him, but I’m not buying it.

“All this. Me chasing your clues around the hospital, ridiculously expensive champagne in a morgue lit like a goth’s wet dream. What’s going on?”

“Oh… well, to be honest, all of this stuff was just to stop you going onto the roof.”

I frown at him. “What?”

He shrugs. “It was all a distraction. Although you got more pissed off than I intended, I thought you’d get annoyed rather than murderous. Sorry. I blame the Todd, he went off script.”

“Hang on, you were there?” I remember the twitchy surgeon. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I’ve been around all afternoon. I had to make sure it was all working. I’ve been in disguise.” He beams at me.

“Well… wait, what? Why would I go on the roof? What’s on the roof?”

He smiles at me and takes my hand. “Wanna go see?”

I trail after him, still holding his hand and carrying the champagne bottle and glass. Nervous Guy gives us a thumbs up and then rapidly scurries off down the corridor when I glare at him. Newbie takes us to the goddamned broken elevator.

“This one’s not functioning, Newb.”

“Yeah it is, it’s just turned onto VIP setting.”

He presses the button and it immediately chimes. I narrow my eyes at him and he shrugs. “Not my fault you don’t check things like this out.”

I shamble into the elevator behind him and he presses for the top floor.

“Is this a private elevator, then?” I ask him.

“Yeah, basically.”

He leans back against me and grins, keeping his hand intertwined with mine. I frown at him. “Are you plotting something?”

He makes the innocent expression again, which basically confirms that he’s plotting something. “What, are you the only one who’s allowed to do surprises?”

I roll my eyes at him and gently kiss his cheek. He briefly presses up against me and then pulls away as the elevator chimes at us to herald our arrival at the top floor. “C’mon,” he says, tugging impatiently at my hand, pulling me out of the elevator and up through the fire escape onto the roof.

I feel my jaw drop at the sight. JD’s apparently timed this to be just before sunset, the dipping sun bleeding red and pink streaks across the sky. The roof itself has changed nearly beyond recognition, a small table set up in the center surrounded by what appears to be more vases of wildflowers, this time the vases all in hues of red, orange and pink. It looks like a table set up in the middle of a blazing wildflower meadow, floating above the hospital. The table appears to be set for two, an elevated ice bucket next to it and a platter and something square lying on the table. I glance at him, the warm hues of the near sunset making his usually pale skin look almost golden against the black of his suit and his hair. He smiles back at me, the light highlighting his startling blue eyes.

We walk over to the table in silence, his hand still tangled with mine. I know something’s happening, but for once I’m not trying to figure it out, not trying to _diagnose_ whatever’s going on, but just watching him, the way he moves, the way the sunlight catches his dark hair, the way his eyes light up when he looks back at me, the curl of his full lips as he smiles. When we arrive at the table I look down. There’s a platter of canapes there – the kind of pretentious crap that Newbie’s become obsessed with over the last few years, little bites of something that cost twenty dollars a mouthful – and a book. I look at it blankly as he sets his champagne flute down on the table and gently takes the bottle from my hand and puts it into the ice bucket. He sits on the chair positioned opposite the book and sits, crossing one of his legs over the other above the knee and hooking his elbows over the back of the chair, looking up at me.

He looks stunning, lounging on the chair, relaxed and painted golden and rosy, the flowers all waving softly in the breeze behind him.

“Going to sit down?”

I collapse abruptly into the opposite seat, still staring at him, still marveling at my beautiful, frustrating, infuriating Newbie. He grins at me and tops up my champagne.

“Well? C’mon, not like you to be lost for words.”

“I…” I look at him, briefly unable to say anything, taking a gulp that probably just cost about two hundred dollars and didn’t seem to taste of anything. He lifts his eyebrows at me, his ridiculously expressive face unusually not giving me much indication of what he’s thinking. He points at the book in front of me and then slouches back against the chair again, taking one of the canapes from the platter and picking up his champagne flute, looking over at the sunset.

I look down at the book in front of me, pulling the heavy cardboard cover open. The first page has as photo of the two of us together. It was taken probably soon after we became a “public” couple. We’re in some bar with a load of others from Sacred Heart, but we’re gazing at each other, smiling and utterly unseeing those around us. It’s the sort of photo Ben would have taken, one where no one realizes that it's being taken, a picture that so graphically shows a truth that I think even the two of us were unaware of the real depth of at the time. I flip the page over and find another couple photos.

_He's made me an album_ I realize. Part of me wants to rifle through the pictures as quickly as possible, like downing water to quench some irresistible thirst. But I savor each one, examining each picture carefully, the way he must have chosen them. Each one seems to say something, a couple posed ones which have turned out better than they usually do and then others – with other people but in each one we’re either looking at one another or one is looking at the other. I pause on one where JD’s laughing with Turk and Carla and I’m looking on in the background, gazing at him fondly and clearly completely ignoring Barbie who appears to be chatting to me animatedly.

Then there’s others with Jack in, showing him with us growing from a little boy to a young man, pictures of JD and Jack covered in soap suds from Jack’s science fair project and me laughing at them in the background, me playing ball with Jack in the backyard, all of us at Disneyworld, me looking bored and JD and Jack looking elated beyond belief. Then more, holidays, both with and without Jack, Italy, Greece, Australia…I’m getting near the end and feel nearly tearful, taking another gulp of champagne to choke down the emotion, feeling the bubbles on my tongue and down my throat. The same photo that’s my PC background, JD and I in the meadow. I flip the page over and see a last photo from the celebration we had just a couple weeks ago, JD, me, Gandhi, Carla, Dan and Barbie all dressed to the nines and toasting, a photo that the waiter took for us when Gandhi drunkenly roared at him to “take a pic, bro”. It’s turned out shockingly well.

There’s a note on the page opposite, JD’s cursive handwriting looping across the page.

_Perry,_

_I know; before you say anything, I’m a girl. Riding a tricycle. With pigtails in my hair. At least I didn’t use candles and soppy music, right? But I thought sunset would be better than candles and the only music you like seems to have ceased around 1985 and I thought maybe playing ACDC would kind of ruin the mood._

_You mean so much to me. It seems easy to tell you that I love you – honestly, sometimes saying “I love you” feels a bit like a cop out for how I really feel about you. Because, of course, I love you. You and Jack are my world and I’d die for you both. But that’s not it. Or rather, that’s not just it._

_Thank you so much for treating me like you always did. Sure, sometimes it’s annoying that you can continue to be so… well, so you. But other times I just rejoice in that, because you being you feels like my anchor sometimes and I think you know that just because I pretend that I’m on calm seas doesn’t always mean I am. And if you can continue being you then I can definitely continue being me._

_You’re my world, Perry. And I mean that, including your psychotic rants and your smartassery and your frankly infuriating answers for literally everything. I wouldn’t want you to change in any way. Because if you did then you wouldn’t be you._

_I adore you._

_I guess you’re wondering why the hell you’re sitting on a hospital roof amongst a load of wildflowers reading some digressive note, right? Well, according to you, everything I say is too long and insane and rambling. And I didn’t want this to be long or insane or rambling, I wanted this to be perfect. So I wrote it, in the hope that I don’t write like I speak._

_I love you, Perry. I love you so so much._

_I wrote too much, looks like I do write like I speak. PTO._

I smile, feeling my throat closing over slightly and fighting the emotion. I take the thick page, stroking the lustrous paper between my fingers and flip the page over, surprised to be confronted with just two words:

_Look up._

I glance up at JD, sat opposite me and watching me carefully, his hands clasped together on the table in front of him. He rolls his eyes heavenwards and I look up, suddenly noticing a droning above us.

A flock of white doves are suddenly flapping through the air, drawing my eye up higher. A small aircraft is flying above us and as I watch it suddenly drops a jet of smoke behind it and starts to curve above us in the sky, slowly spelling out letters in black smoke. I watch it mesmerized, feeling JD shift across from me but staying focused on the little plane as it painstakingly ducks and dives, spelling out it’s message.

_Look down._

I bite my lip, knowing that this is a moment that I’m going to treasure forever, knowing that this is going to be a life-defining moment, like seeing the birth of my son and graduating as a doctor. I drop my gaze down and see JD in front of me, having slid off his chair and down onto one knee, looking up at me intently and holding out a ring. His eyes are wide, excited but scared, the last throes of the sunset painting him blood red, contrasting sharply with his black hair and suit. He’s gazing up at me, utter devotion and love in his eyes, for once not hiding anything, a totally open book.

“Perry… marry me?”

His voice is shaking slightly, but there’s a determination there, the same that I’ve seen when he first laid an IV, when he was pulling me out of a funk after the death of a patient, a dogged, unshakeable trust and confidence in me and stubbornness in himself to do whatever challenge he’d set. I stare at him for a second and then pull him into a tight embrace, kissing him hard.

“Of course, JD.”

He squeaks slightly and then wraps his arms around me, kissing me back just as hard. I briefly wallow in the moment and then pull back, stroking a thumb over his cheek, feeling the sun-warmed skin and the tracks of happy tears running down his face.

“You got a sky writer, Newbie?”

He beams at me, the excitement suddenly spilling over as he abruptly loses the vestiges of cool that he managed to create for past few hours.. “I _got a sky writer_!”

“Of course you did.”

I kiss him again, pulling him up onto the chair with me. We stay like this for a long, long time.

(And I ignore Gandhi, who I’ve realized is taking photos surreptitiously out of sight and presumably stage managing this whole affair. Hell, I might even like the photos.)

\- - - - -

“Hey, Jack! We’re engaged!”

I grin at him, Perry’s arm wrapped over my shoulder.

“Oh good, Dad said yes?”

“Yeah, I’m making an honest woman out of Priscilla here.” Perry smirks at me and I kiss him briefly, partly to shut him up and partly just because I’m so sickeningly happy.

“Oh God, I’m going to hear that puppy in your bedroom again tonight again, aren’t I?”

I stare at him in horror whilst Perry doubles over laughing, putting a strain on my neck as he does so. I wince and then smile smugly.

“Yeah, sorry about that Jack. I just can’t get your Dad to shut up sometimes.”

Perry abruptly stops laughing to glare at me and I know something terrible/incredibly sexy is probably going to happen. Possibly involving a maid’s uniform. I glance at Jack.

“Um, maybe go to your Mom’s tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Hope you enjoyed! I went a bit gooey writing this... (Also, I know spelling out MORGUE at your partner is creepy as hell, but JD has an odd sense of romance). Turk went into Perry's office and deleted the first page, if you were wondering. 
> 
> I have realised that it's not entirely clear, so just to highlight; JD didn't buy Dom Pérignon, he bought a c. $100 bottle of champagne that was moved and replaced with the much more expensive bottle by the Janitor.
> 
> dashwood, white doves for you!
> 
> So... if you've enjoyed this, have a look at the other story I'm just about to upload, My Unorthodox Treatment. It's outside of MCA and will have considerably less horrible, traumatic stuff going on (but still some, because apparently that's what I write). As you can probably guess, my attempts to write non-Scrubs fiction is losing out against the rabid Scrubsficfan part of my brain.
> 
> The Friday updates will continue with MUT :)


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